


Countless Encounters

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Series: Tumblr Ficlets & Prompts [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: Small ficlets that I saved from my Tumblr, all Mystrade, various ratings and topics. Every chapter is a standalone ficlet that is too short to be in a work on its own.





	1. Tears

Mycroft? No, it couldn’t be. Just someone who looked like him from behind. But the resemblance was uncanny… except for the clothes. Greg walked faster on the other side of the street to pass the man, and as he saw his profile it was clear: It was Mycroft. But he looked not only underdressed, but also off… somehow.

As Greg ran ahead to cross the street at the next light, Mycroft turned his head and their eyes met. His face showed confusion, recognition, shock and then pain. He turned away to walk into the next small street. Greg forgot his position as a policeman for a second and ran across the red light, cars screeching around him.

He caught up to Mycroft, grabbed his wrist to make him stay. As the other turned around his eyes were filled with tears.

“Inspector…” he breathed, unable to collect himself, hands shaking.

Greg’s eyes were wide, his heart hurting as he saw Mycroft like this, so far from everything he knew the man to be. He took a deep breath and drew Mycroft into his arms, pressed the man’s face into his shoulder. Mycroft was tense, but when Greg put a hand in his hair he broke out into a sob and threw his arms around Greg.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered between heavy breaths. “I–“

“Ssshhh, just let it out. Then call a car. I’m taking you home.”

Mycroft nodded imperceptibly and tightened his grip.


	2. Power Dynamics

As Mycroft car stops at the edge of the crime scene, many heads turn. He is never a welcome guest – merely a tolerated one. It is how he likes it, if he’s frank. People act quicker when they fear him. Mycroft holds power over them, could squash most in the palm of his hand. It’s not something he enjoys flaunting… well, sometimes he does.

His driver opens the door, just as Mycroft looks into the mirror to see if his hair is still how he sculpted it in the morning. Yes. Everything is fine. With a nod of thanks, he walks past the other man and onto the crime scene, bypassing the officers, who meekly stand aside. His target is easily found, leaning against a wall nearby, fingers nervously tapping on his thigh. He doesn’t even see Mycroft approach.

“You know you can’t smoke at a crime scene, detective inspector,” Mycroft says as he comes to stand behind the man. “No matter how badly you crave it.”

Greg stills his fingers with a grin, then turns around. “That obvious, is it?”

“Incredibly.”

Mycroft takes a quick look around. The other officers eye the pair of them from a distance. They probably think he’s here to complain about something to Greg. If they only knew it was the very opposite. Mycroft looks back at the other man and sees the dark shadows under his eyes, the imperceptible twitch at the edge of it, the pursed lips. Still, there is warmth in Greg’s expression when he looks at Mycroft, eyes flickering briefly down to the platinum band he had placed on his partner’s hand three weeks ago. Mycroft smiles at him, and there is nothing fake about it.

“You look like shit,” he says, to which Greg can only laugh. “This is over now. You can go home.”

“I can’t leave them to clean up… they’ve been up and at it as long as I have,” Greg answers and pushes a hand through his hair. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“None of them are my husband. I care about you, first and foremost,” Mycroft says quietly.

They look at each other, expressing love through their shared gaze. Greg’s shoulders slump ever so slightly. He looks at the sageants, who are bagging up the evidence. The body is already gone. There really isn’t much left over. And it is rather late. Still…

“Sorry. Just give me an hour to wrap this up, and I’ll be right home.”

“You incorrigible,” Mycroft says with a sigh. “You leave me no choice.”

He takes another step towards Greg, then smoothly sinks to his knees in front of the man, leaning his head against Greg’s hand. Greg stills in shock for a moment. They had talked about this… not hiding their relationship anymore. Greg has never cared what others think – it was Mycroft, who didn’t want to show any public displays. Several people gasp under their breath. In a world where everyone is either a dominant or a submissive, these displays are nothing out of the usual. But it is extraordinary when Mycroft Holmes is the one who kneels. The man who holds enough power to bend most everything in London to his will. The man who can come and go as he pleases, everywhere. The man now kneeling at Greg Lestrade’s feet, eyes closed, legs spread, hands on his thighs, in a gesture of perfect submission.

Greg’s breath escapes him in a rush. He caresses Mycroft’s cheek and brings his hand up to his hair, ruffles it slightly. Rather than complain, Mycroft presses himself closer, sighing contently. This display in front of everyone, the show of belonging, satisfies something deep in his soul. The way Greg’s breathing has changed shows him that it’s the same for the other. He can barely even hear the people around them talking as he looks up to meet Greg’s eyes.

“Please, sir, come home with me now. Let me take care of you.”

“Everything for you, my darling,” Greg whispers and briefly presses Mycroft’s face to his stomach. “Thank you.”

“I’m here for you. Even if you don’t think you need me.”

“I will always need you. And you’re right. Of course you are.”

“Of course I am,” Mycroft mumbles and jumps slightly as Greg’s hand tightens in his hair.

“I’ll let that one go. Come on, stand up. You’re ruining your gorgeous suit on the crime scene floor.”

Mycroft stands up as smoothly as he had kneeled down, pats the dust from his legs. He turns to Greg, who is smiling at him, and leans in to steal a brief kiss.

“I’m not looking forward to the grilling I’ll get once I come back to Yard tomorrow.”

Mycroft hooks his arm into Greg’s as they start walking towards the large, black car. He smiles at Greg’s words, pointedly ignoring the stares they are getting. There was a time he had dreaded showing his dynamic to the world. A man in his position simply isn’t a submissive. There is no one else like him in his ranks. But now that he is at Greg’s side, he feels stronger than ever – proud that a man like him would want to be seen with him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mycroft says as they enter the car. “You can just tell them that you’ve made me the happiest man on the planet.”


	3. The Diogenes Club

It was a grey day, and it had been since Mycroft was summoned to attend an emergency meeting at 4:32am. There wasn’t any rain, and it wasn’t particularly cold - in fact, as soon as the sun had deemed it proper to greet the city of London with its golden rays, it had actually turned out to be a rather beautiful autumn morning. No, the day simply felt grey to him. Grey and dull and oh, so superfluous. It wasn’t the sort of exasperating day you needed to drown in alcohol to forget, but rather one that wore you out so thoroughly, you felt like all your energy had been drained.

 

Mycroft exited his office building with measured steps, neither too fast nor too slow. 5:23pm. It was rather early for him to end his work, even factoring in the additional hours in the morning, but he felt more exhausted than he had for weeks. It was one of these rare instances on which he allowed himself a few hours of indulgent rest, if only because he knew that his body demanded it. At least that was what he told himself as he had stared motionless at the clock in his office for longer than he would admit, thoughts incoherent and mind wandering.

“To the club,” he told his driver curtly, before pushing a button to make the screen between them slide into place. Only after it closed completely and he switched off his mobile phone, he allowed himself to relax, shoulders sinking immediately and head falling back as he melted into the soft car seat. The black limousine gently pulled out into the traffic and the low hum of the engine permeated the atmosphere. Usually that was already enough. A few minutes of the quiet atmosphere, the muted sounds, the solitude of the car interior. Today it wasn’t.

So it was with a tiredness that had settled into his very bones that he exited the car at his destination. Mycroft made his way through the entrance and the long hallway without anyone even attempting to stop him. The attendants simply straightened their postures as he walked by without hurry, his feet finding the path to his very own, private armchair in the main room of the club on autopilot. For a few seconds the door to the Stranger’s Room opened at the other end of the hallway and a low murmur drifted over, but the rest of the building lay in a blissful silence, not even interrupted by the sound of footsteps, which were absorbed by the plush carpeting.

The armchair welcomed Mycroft like an old friend, his body fitting into the curve perfectly, slowly sinking into the upholstery. A steaming cup of tea and a pack of his favourite brand of cigarettes lay waiting for him on the small side table, as well as a selected stack of today’s newspapers. There was no music in the club, only the occasional rustle of paper and the low hum of the ventilation in the background. The government official closed his eyes and remained perfectly still.

Slowly, but surely, the grey day started drifting towards a brighter colour, a muted orange that cautiously bloomed in Mycroft’s chest. He didn’t feel any less exhausted, no that was something only a good night’s sleep could fix, but he felt his thoughts calm and his mind clear in a way only the silence of the Diogenes Club could achieve. No one approached him here, no one disturbed the peace and quiet. There were no calls, no urgent meetings and no nosy colleagues. His time in the club was sacred, and anyone who ever deviated from this rule had seen themselves reassigned to less than favourable positions rather quickly.

Only after he felt that the calm had finally spread through all of his body and mind, did Mycroft open his eyes and turned towards the cup. He noted with a smile that someone had replaced it with a fresh one, as it was still steaming hot despite the time that had passed. No sugar, no milk, just a strong brew of Assam leaves. The heat of the liquid didn’t only warm his stomach, but also his mood and pushed the last wisps of grey, that still clung to him like a persistent fog, out of sight and out of mind. Finally he had found his equilibrium again. He sighed contently, barely audible, and together with the air, the last tension left his body.

As Mycroft reached for the newspaper stack his mind was already far ahead and contemplating his evening entertainment. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to feel this comfortable. Maybe it was time for a good drink and one of his rare film nights…


	4. Ice Lolly

In hindsight, buying that ice lolly might’ve been the best decision of Greg Lestrade’s life. It had been an impulse buy, really. On the way back to the office from his lunch break, he had passed a small cart on the Embankment, which was selling ice lollies in many colours, the advertisement sparkling invitingly in the hot mid-day sun. He had chosen the strawberry one, even though he really shouldn’t… summer body and all. But one ice lolly could be excused, couldn’t it?

He had eaten barely half of it as he walked into the rooms on his floor, slurping noisily as the sugary water melted quickly in the heat. Sally frowned at him.

“Where’s mine?” she asked.

“They’re just outside. Get your own lolly. I’m not your dad.”

“I’ll bring this up in your evaluation. Not a team player, and so on.”

Greg laughed loudly. “You do that, Sally. You do that.”

She grinned and dropped the file she had been holding onto her desk.

“I suppose I better buy one before I die of overheating. Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Of course not.”

“Just a heads up,” Sally said as she walked by him. “You have a guest in your office. Didn’t look very happy. Can you imagine he had his umbrella with him, even though it hasn’t rained in days?”

“Maybe he’s a vampire,” Greg mused.

“That would explain a lot.” Sally laughed. “Alright. Good luck.”

Greg shrugged at her sympathetic smile and turned towards his office. The door was closed and the blinds were half drawn, but he could make out a figure sitting on his chair. Well, here goes nothing. He contemplated finishing his ice lolly first, but then again, Mycroft was here unannounced, so he could very well suffer through Greg eating his dessert.

“Ah, detective inspector, you–” Mycroft stood up and started to talk as Greg opened the door, but then he stopped mid-sentence.

Greg looked up confusedly, lips still attached to the bit of his hand, on which a drop of strawberry flavoured ice had just melted. He frowned.

“Are you alright?”

Mycroft blinked for a few seconds, looking very similar to Sherlock for once, then caught himself.

“Excuse me,” he said. “As I was saying, I’m here because you have someone in custody, who– For god’s sake, can you eat that any quieter?”

“Sorry,” Greg mumbled and slurped noisily. “No, really. Sorry. I’m almost done. It’s too warm today…”

“Indeed.” Mycroft sighed and walked a few steps towards Greg, who did his best to lick up the last bits of the ice lolly as elegantly as he could, which was a bit of a futile effort. Should’ve really finished it earlier…

But as he looked up, he found Mycroft’s gaze on him, not in disgust, but rather in… curious interest? Greg experimentally licked along the whole length of the ice in his hand, and found Mycroft’s eyes dart away quickly, ears a nice shade of red, then returning to observe the spectacle. He seemed transfixed by the way Greg was eating, conversation forgotten - hell, everything seemed forgotten. Greg didn’t mind in the slightest.

As only the last bits of the ice clung to the stick, he held it out towards Mycroft, who only then seemed to remember where he was and what he was doing. He cleared his throat loudly and instinctively took a step back.

“Excuse me, inspector, I–”

“Don’t you want a taste?”

“I… what?”

Greg smiled at him. “Go on. Before it’s melted. It’s strawberry.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to refuse, but the words never came. In what seemed like an effort of bravery, he took a step forward. His eyes flickered briefly to Greg’s, then he leaned in and licked up the last remnants of the ice.

“Good?” Greg asked.

“Mhmm…” Mycroft hummed, licking his lips.

They stared at each other for a few seconds while something shifted. Greg smiled and began to draw back his hand, but then Mycroft reached out and grabbed him at his wrist. Gingerly, he took the stick from Greg’s hand and threw it away, then brought the hand up to his mouth and started licking the melted drops directly from the other’s skin.

Greg didn’t know it was possible to feel like his heart had stopped and simultaneously racing faster than he could ever remember. Mycroft let out a series of satisfied sighs as he cleaned Greg’s fingers meticulously, never hurried, taking all the time in the world. When he was finished he looked up at other, a shy smile meeting Greg’s expression of wonder.

“I hope I didn’t read that wr–” Mycroft whispered, but was cut off by Greg’s lips against his.


	5. The Mark

Tedious. Boring. Superfluous.

God, my thoughts sound like my brother. I need to get out of this. Now.

Mycroft types in a combination on his phone while he nods at whatever the PM is saying. The situation has been blown incredibly out of proportion. There is no reason he should even be here. It‘s 11pm, for god‘s sake. He had been enjoying a rather nice film night with Greg when the call had come in. He had changed into an appropriate suit, made his way over, left the love of his life alone on the one night they had managed to keep free for themselves. Mycroft can barely keep the anger off his face.

Then there‘s a knock on the door.

„Sir, may I interrupt?“ Anthea - bless her - has reacted to his emergency signal.

„Only if it‘s important,“ Mycroft answers, ever the diplomat. He has to seem reluctant to leave.

„A situation has…“ she starts, but then looks between Mycroft and the PM. He nods his head to signal that, of course, she can talk about anything in his presence. „North Korea. China is calling.“

North Korea. Brilliant. That works every time. Unpredictable as they are, at least they can get him out of meetings with the PM. He sighs and looks back to the man, who still seems very anxious.

„Please send my people everything you have. I assure you it will be dealt with… until 9am tomorrow morning.“

The PM gasps. „9am?“

Mycroft nods curtly. It is a minor matter, really. Call one person. He wouldn‘t even have to leave his house for it. If he‘d only known. But part of his job is to be present when he is needed and to reassure all parties that he can indeed perform miracles.

„If you excuse me, then. It seems like I have a long night ahead of me.“

„Of course,“ the PM says quickly and rises as Mycroft does, then shakes his hand. „Thank you.“

„Don‘t mention it.“

He leaves as quickly as he can, Anthea at his heels. When they are safely contained in the car, he leans back into his seat, hands on both eyes and sighs deeply.

„Thank you for getting me out of there.“

„Don‘t thank me. Thank North Korea.“

„Someone over there must be mightily confused by all the cards they get.“

Anthea actually chuckles. „Will that be all for tonight, sir?“

„Yes. Get some rest. I know I could need it.“

The car drives smoothly through the city. London is never empty, but at this time, at least there are no traffic jams. They sit in silence for a few minutes.

„There is one last thing, though, if I may…“

The tone of Anthea‘s voice makes Mycroft immediately nervous, so he stares at her and raises an eyebrow.

„Yes?“

Anthea points at her own neck, right side. Mycroft narrows his eyes in confusion, but then they‘re suddenly blown wide, as he touches his own neck, right above the collar. As his fingers come into contact with the skin, it aches. Not very much. Just barely noticeable.

„No…“ he breathes, and Anthea already holds out a small mirror for him, which he grabs with frantic motions.

There it is. A mark, angry red and partially blue, sticking out of his starched collar, easily visible on his pale skin. It‘s not particularly big, but very much out of place. Oh god, when…

Greg had caught him, just before he left, in the hallway. Had pushed him against the wall, and in frustration they had kissed long and hard. Yes, he had moved to his neck, but… Mycroft hadn‘t even noticed. His own annoyance about having been called away had been too large. He stares at the small reflective surface, unable to tear his eyes from it.

„Has he noticed?“

The PM had behaved a bit off, but Mycroft had attributed it to his nerves about the general situation… not this.

„From his reactions… yes, I believe he did,“ Anthea answers readily.

„How did he seem?“

„Surprised, I think. Shocked, maybe.“

Of course. Of course he was shocked. Repulsed, more likely. And certainly…

„Jealous,“ Anthea quickly adds. „He was most certainly very jealous.“

Mycroft looks up at her and blinks, his thoughts suddenly, briefly offline.

„What?“

„Absolutely very jealous, sir,“ Anthea says with a smile.

Mycroft takes a deep breath.

„Good.“


	6. Urgent

Mycroft had both hands on the back of the couch in his living room. The lights were low and the smell of dinner was still faintly in the air, floating around him like a nostalgic memory when it had only been a few minutes since they had left the dining table. Greg had excused himself for a minute, and Mycroft had taken that moment to gather himself… though it proved rather difficult. They had shared an utterly pleasant meal with lingering glances, socked toes playing with each other under the table, Greg’s fingers brushing over his more than once. Mycroft was completely gone. He had barely kept it together, breathlessly staring into those large, brown eyes, missing his cue to answer more than once. Every time Greg had noticed, he hadn’t commented, merely smirked, and Mycroft had felt his ears growing hotter.

Now he was standing here, breathing heavily with the mere thought of having this man in his home. Having Greg here, all alone, all for him. He was ashamed of how much he was affected by him saying such lovely things over dinner, complimenting his house, the food… Mycroft’s looks. He self-consciously carded a hand through his hair, which was curling slightly without any product, then brought it back down on the back of the couch, digging all of his fingers into the soft leather. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willed all of his body to not be so trembling, so excited. The thought of having Greg touch him… properly… was too much for him to handle. He was so much in his head that he didn’t even notice the other entering the room again, and when he stood close behind Mycroft and placed both hands on his waist, he almost jumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to surprise you,” Greg said behind him.

Mycroft swallowed. “Forgive me. I was… somewhere else.”

“Mhm? Where exactly?” Greg asked and moved closer, but Mycroft shuffled forward so that he ended up crowded against the couch, shivering in Greg’s arms.

“My bed,” he breathed, eyes closed, face red from embarrassment.

“You’re late, then,” Greg chuckled. “I’ve been there all night, waiting for you.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt. Mycroft exhaled shakily, which turned into a low moan soon after. But instead of shying away, he actually moved his body backwards, pressing into Greg’s, who welcomed him with a pleased hum. Greg’s hands wandered to his hips and gripped a bit harder, pulling him backward.

“Oh fuck,” Mycroft said and leaned forward as he felt himself tipping off-balance, instantly aware in what kind of position he had just maneuvered himself to. “Greg…”

“You’re just dying for me to fuck you, is that it?” Greg said and with one hand pushed Mycroft’s upper body further down, so that he was basically lying over the back of the couch. Mycroft couldn’t breathe. He only nodded.

“So badly,” he whispered, slightly ashamed of his base needs, but even more desperate to get what Greg was so clearly willing to give. “Like this. Now. Oh, please…”

“You’re so fucking pretty like this. I’m going to take you upstairs and properly make love to you later, but for now… spread your legs for me, gorgeous.”


	7. Champagne

Greg was leaning against the wooden paneling of the wall, almost hidden by a large fern. He eyed the crowd with feigned interest, quietly nursing a flute of pink champagne. He would never tell anyone that it was actually one of his favourite drinks, and this was the main reason that he was already on his fourth refill. Well, he didn’t actually know anyone at this charity party, to which the super had invited him. It was held in a ballroom of a big hotel in western London and had gone on for quite a while now. Greg had long run out of patience for meaningless small talk, but he felt bad for leaving early because he’d received a personal invitation as the only inspector. He only hoped that no one would approach him, as he was definitely feeling more than tipsy from the champagne.

As if on cue, a tall man in a tuxedo detached himself from the crowd. As their eyes met he smirked and Greg drew in a sharp breath. With a leisurely step the man walked over to him and came to stand entirely too close to be proper. Greg stared into the stormy blue eyes until the man raised his glass – also filled with pink champagne. Greg grinned as their glasses clinked.

“I don’t believe we’ve met?” the man said and took a sip.

“I’m sure I’d remember someone like you,” Greg replied.

The other man chuckled quietly. “You look and talk like someone who likes to play, DI Lestrade.”

“So you do know me?”

“I merely said we haven’t met. How could I ignore the most delectable detective inspector of the Yard?”

Greg tensed as the man’s eyes roamed his body and he heard an appreciative hum. He raised his glass and downed the rest of the champagne.

“Right. Shall we skip this charade?”

“Fine,” the man replied. “Follow me.”

Greg’s heart beat faster as they walked through the crowd. He eyed the other man from behind, observed his slender waist in the perfectly fitting tuxedo, tried not to stare further below. But the way the other was almost stalking, moving his hips, it was clear that he knew Greg couldn’t resist. Greg had to smile despite himself.

As they stepped out onto the balcony, Greg immediately realised why no one else had done so. It was freezing on this November night. A shiver ran through his body, but the goosebumps only appeared as he was suddenly pulled by his arm and drawn into the shadows, behind several stacks of unused chairs. He was backed into the cloth that covered them, two hands beside his head, a face suddenly very close, eyes glinting even in the darkness. The man’s hot breath ghosted over his face. Greg couldn’t help it. He moaned as their bodies pressed together.

“Quiet,” the man hissed and licked along Greg’s lips.

“Fuck,” Greg whispered. “From zero to a hundred?”

“You’re the one who wanted to skip.”

“Guilty as charged.”

The man smoothly sunk to his knees and started working on Greg’s fly. Already Greg could barely keep it together. He was only exposed to the cold for a few seconds until a hot mouth enveloped him and the man swallowed him down. Greg clawed at the cloth behind him, one hand finding purchase, the other one opting to bury itself in his partner’s hair.

Then the balcony door opened again.

“Fuck,” Greg hissed, but the man didn’t seem to hear him, as we was working his cock like he had all the time in the world. “Mycroft!”

This time the other did look up, but it was merely to smirk.

“Don’t–”

Greg let his head fall back and put a hand over his mouth. Mycroft was sucking him perfectly, every motion designed to bring Greg off with brutal efficiency. He brought one hand up to squeeze Greg’s thigh and push him even further into his mouth. Greg’s head was swimming. There was no way he could keep quiet… he would… he would…

Not two seconds after the balcony was deserted again, Mycroft sucked particularly hard and it was over. Greg drew in a breath so harsh he almost had to cough as Mycroft drank him down, licking his flesh.

As he was tucked in, Mycroft stood up just as smoothly and patted his trousers. He leaned in for a kiss, which was willingly given. As their noses touched Greg grinned.

“Not too ridiculous?” Mycroft asked.

“Hmm, no. I liked it. My tall, handsome stranger.”

“Do I have to talk you into coming to my room?”

Greg laughed. “I didn’t need much convincing so far. I think you’ve got this one.”

“Shame. I wanted to lure you with more champagne,” Mycroft said and kissed Greg’s nose.

“Well then, do your worst.”

“You’ll regret saying that…”


	8. Wine

Mycroft‘s fingers tightened around the stem of the wine glass. These obligatory functions were usually simply tedious, but today had reached an absolutely new low. It wasn‘t the company - if he was honest, the people of the Yard were much easier to get along with than many of the CEOs and career politicians he had to brush shoulders with. It wasn‘t the refreshment - somehow they had dragged in an absolutely passable red. It wasn‘t the day - Friday night was a good time to socialise, because people were relaxed and less suspicious (hit them with a joke and the agree to anything). It wasn‘t the work - he had achieved his objective in record time, because the Chief had readily agreed to his suggestions.

It was the way the man on the other side of the room smiled and joked. How he was unable to see the countless advances thrown his way. How he readily accepted the praise for a job well done, beaming like an eager puppy. How everyone just… hugged and touched him. Like it was easy. Like it was nothing.

It was Mycroft‘s inability to either leave the party or step out of the shadows to offer his own congratulations. He was rooted in place, heart beating fast every time he saw the man flash a carefree smile, drinking too much wine to be healthy. It was a blessing and a curse that no one particularly wanted to talk to him, because on one hand he could observe undisturbed, but on the other he had no excuse to turn away. And he found himself unable to do so himself.

Mycroft‘s eyes darkened briefly as one of the man‘s colleagues hugged him and kept clinging to his arm afterwards. More wine? More wine. It was the only reason to briefly leave his spot. With an empty glass he walked towards the back of the room, where the impromptu bar had been setup. He picked up another glass and then almost dropped it in shock as he felt a hand on his arm.

„Woah, careful there.“

„Apologies…“ Mycroft muttered and turned, only to be confronted with the same dark-brown eyes he had longingly stared at for the better part of the last hour. „… detective inspector.“

„I should be the one to apologise. I didn‘t mean to startle you. It was just… I was surprised to see you here. Didn‘t think that this…“ Greg motioned around. „...was your kind of crowd.“

„Pray tell, what do you think my kind of crowd is?“ Mycroft said with a raised eyebrow, having somehow regained part of his composure.

„Talked myself into that one, didn‘t I? Well, something more… posh, I‘d assume.“

Mycroft snorted and took a sip of his wine. Greg seemed more surprised by his reaction than anything else. „To be frank, if I have my way I‘m not part of any crowd at all. No matter how posh.“

„Rather be at home with a good book?“ Greg asked.

„Quite,“ Mycroft said and smiled before he remembered where he was and who he was talking to.

„Why are you here, then? I‘d like to think you‘re here to celebrate my success in the lastest case, but the way I know you, you probably have an ulterior motive.“

„Already dealt with.“

„Of course. You‘re nothing if not efficient…“ Greg said. „But then why are you still here and not with your book?“

„Ah, that-“

„Greg! Come on, everyone‘s waiting!“ someone shouted from the distance.

„A minute!“ Greg shouted back. Did he sound annoyed or did Mycroft just imagine that?

„You should return to your friends. I‘m keeping you.“

„Screw them. I see them every day. I see you only so rarely.“

Mycroft‘s eyes widened and he looked into his wine glass as he realised what he had given away. „I wasn‘t aware my company was something to covet. Your colleagues are all happily leaving me alone. In fact I should leave. I‘m-“

Mycroft was effectively cut off by Greg reaching for his hand and pulling him through the crowd to a door in the back of the room, behind the bar. Mycroft‘s heart beat faster at the feeling of Greg‘s skin, even while his head pushed everything towards panic. They ended up in an emergency staircase, which fell eerily quiet after Greg closed the door behind them. Mycroft swallowed, unable to look Greg in the face.

„Why are we...“ he managed to say.

„Why didn‘t you go home?“ Greg asked again. „Don‘t answer. I know. I saw you staring at me for the longest time.“

Now Mycroft did look up, but it was with panic in his eyes. „I didn‘t…“

„Don‘t deny it. Why?“

Mycroft swallowed and took a step back, leaned against the rough wall. „I find you… intriguing.“

„Go on.“

„Oh god. I can‘t.“

Greg walked closer, so he could stand in front of Mycroft and leaned forward, so that his hands came to rest on the wall on each side of Mycroft‘s head.

„You can.“

Mycroft closed his eyes, unable to face Greg at such a close distance. „I was jealous,“ he whispered, barely audible. „Of them.“

„Oh, good. Why do you think I let them cling to me so much?“

„What?“ Mycroft said and his eyes opened after all.

„Did you really think I wouldn‘t see you? Staring at me like a pining heroine from a romance novel? God, Mycroft… Look at you blush. You look downright edible like this,“ Greg purred and leaned in closer, so that their noses almost touched.

„Greg?“ he breathed. „Tell me I‘m not dreaming.“

„I‘ll show you.“

Greg brought both hands to cup Mycroft‘s head and leaned in for the longest and dirtiest kiss he could remember. Frankly, it was hard to remember anything with Greg‘s tongue in his mouth, as he was pinned against the wall, one knee between his legs. He fisted the fabric of Greg‘s shirt and desperately pulled him closer, found himself rutting against his knee in seconds. It couldn‘t have been more than a minute until Greg pulled back, but Mycroft was already floating, panting, eyes unfocused.

„Oh, but I‘m going to have fun with you… Look at you,“ Greg whispered and stroked Mycroft‘s cheek softly, before reaching down and squeezed the evidence of his arousal. Mycroft almost fell forward, moan barely muffled by Greg‘s mouth on his.

„Greg…“

„Here‘s what‘s going to happen, sweetheart. You‘re leaving the building through that door behind you. I‘m not letting anyone see you like this. Then you wait in your car in front of the building and I‘ll join you in a few minutes.“

„But your party?“ Mycroft managed to ask.

„I‘d much rather fuck you through your mattress than endure more small talk,“ Greg said and pressed one last kiss to Mycroft‘s lips before winking and slipping away.

Mycroft found himself texting his driver automatically. There really wasn‘t a choice to make here.


	9. Headache

Greg knew what was happening when he returned home and the house was dark. There was no light, no sound anywhere. He glanced at Mycroft’s coat at the entrance, his shoes neatly arranged beneath it. No patience to put them away properly, but didn’t want to leave them lying around. Greg smiled and reached for them, put them into the small closet next to the entrance door, next to his. He shrugged out of his jacket and walked on his socks over the heated floor into the sitting room, took a cautious look at the couch and the armchairs, but no one was there. Leaving his bag on the table he sighed deeply. That bad… 

He discarded his suit jacket and also removed his belt and his tie, leaving the top two buttons open. After emptying his pockets his patted down his body, finding a piece of paper in his shirt pocket and removed it as well. Nothing hard, nothing loud now. With a deep breath he made his way through the corridor and up the staircase. The door to their bedroom was closed and there was no sound. But he knew Mycroft was there.

With a careful motion he opened the door as quietly as he could and slipped into the perfect darkness, closing it behind him. Even though his eyes were used to the night by now, it was hard making out anything in here. But he didn’t need to, as he knew the room by heart. What he did see as he came closer was a bundle of blankets and pillows on the bed, and Mycroft beneath it, curled up, facing away from him, a pillow pressed to both sides of his head, shivering.

Greg sat on the bed, announcing his presence without words, then he slipped under blanket behind Mycroft and molded his body to his husband’s, an arm around his waist. He didn’t do or say anything else, waited until Mycroft stirred.

“Hurts…” he breathed, arms tightening around his head.

Greg hated it. He felt Mycroft’s pain in his own bones, tightening his grip. He moved his head forward and pressed a kiss to the back of Mycroft’s head.

“How long?” he whispered.

“All day. I couldn’t leave.”

“Darling…” Greg said softly. “Have you taken your pills?”

The silence told him all there was to know. At first he didn’t know why Mycroft had such an aversion to them, when he suffered from such heavy headaches, but soon he realised that Mycroft was actually afraid of them. The fact that he needed them so often scared him. He had confessed that he feared getting addicted to painkillers, and the very thought of that was enough to make him rather suffer through the pain. They had made progress, but sometimes Greg came home and found his husband suffering like this and it broke his heart.

“Love, how many have you taken in the last two weeks?”

“One,” Mycroft answered.

“Take one now. I swear it’ll do you more good than harm. Please.”

“Alright,” Mycroft whispered and Greg’s heart ached at the thought that Mycroft was so willing to listen to him now, trusting him to steer him right.

“I’ll be right back.”

With another kiss to Mycroft’s head, Greg slipped from the bed and walked to the bathroom. He only turned on the light after he had closed the door behind him and took both a glass and the painkillers from the shelf. As he returned Mycroft had sat up in bed, looking every bit as miserable as he felt. Greg handed him the pill and the glass with ice-cold water, just as he knew Mycroft liked to drink when he had his headaches. As his husband breathed a sigh of relief on the first sip, Greg had to smile. He waited until both the pill and the water were gone, snatched the glass and put it away, then sat behind Mycroft and wrapped his arms around him. The other melted into his embrace, turning around slightly to lay his head on Greg’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Greg whispered, leaned against the headboard and drew up the blanket to cover them both. As Mycroft snuggled into him he felt more than content.

“I love you,” Mycroft said against his neck.

“I love you, darling,” Greg replied and slowly stroked Mycroft’s back.

They remained like that for a little while, until Mycroft moved in Greg’s arms and looked up, his face shrouded in the shadows, but Greg knew the question that was being asked and took a deep breath.

“Anything you need,” he said and lowered his head to brush his lips against Mycroft’s, who closed his eyes and released the tiniest gasp. “Are you sure?”

“Yes…” Mycroft responded and turned fully, so that he was straddling Greg’s legs, arms around his shoulders. Greg reached into the bedside drawer and found what he was looking for with a practiced motion. He placed both items on the mattress next to them and drew up the blanket again, so that both of them were covered.

“Please…” Mycroft said and kissed Greg’s neck again, just under his ear, where he knew Greg would dissolve into shivers.

Greg lost no time and lubed up the small toy, reaching behind Mycroft, into his pyjama bottoms and let it slip in without any resistance. Mycroft released a huff of breath as the slender toy already pressed on his prostate, the sensory memory alone making him shiver. He clung to Greg in search for closeness and warmth, and Greg gave him all his love, slowly stroking his back, nuzzling at his neck. Then he handed the small remote to his lover and felt Mycroft shift, then jolt.

“Oh fuck…” Mycroft gasped, the lowest setting already enough to let his breathing speed up, and the pleasurable feeling flood his body to push out the pain. 

Greg relished the way Mycroft moved against him, slowly rubbing himself over Greg’s body, seeking that slow pleasure that sat deep inside his chest. There was a time to go hard and fast and then there was a time when he just needed to be there, giving his body to Mycroft to let him enjoy himself. If Greg was honest, this was even better for him, in a very different way than sex was. What could ever be better than a hot and pliant Mycroft grinding against him, moaning his pleasure, gasping as the toy shifted in him, lost so much in his head that he didn’t even realise he was muttering Greg’s name over and over again?

Then he let out a rather loud moan and Greg knew that the pills were starting to work their magic. Comfort had morphed into need and Mycroft drew back to stare into Greg’s eyes with a silent plea. Greg smiled at him and they shared a gentle kiss before he turned Mycroft around so he was sitting between his legs, back to front. He let both hands glide down Mycroft’s chest and then slightly pushed down his hips to see the man gasp his pleasure as the toy slipped just that little bit deeper. But Mycroft didn’t have to plead him with as Greg slid one hand in his bottoms and wrapped it around Mycroft’s eager erection.

He wouldn’t draw it out, but he also didn’t want to overwhelm the man, so he stroked hard, but slow, feeling Mycroft press himself ever closer. Somehow, after a few minutes, he ended up sideways in Greg’s lap, with his head hanging back, eyes closed, panting his pleasure with an open mouth. Greg held him up with his left arm around Mycroft’s shoulders, the right still at work below. Finally his heart skipped a beat when Mycroft shyly reached for the remote and changed the setting, dropping the small thing immediately as his body was wrecked by shivers. Both hands clung to Greg’s shirt as he pushed himself up, up, eagerly into Greg’s hand.

When he came, Mycroft was almost silent, eyes closed, body shaking in Greg’s hands, whispering nonsense that was too soft to understand. Greg immediately fished for the remote and turned it off, and when he turned back, Mycroft was already asleep, nestled in his arms. He sighed contently and kissed his husband’s forehead and held him closer.

At one point he would had to clean up, but for now he just wanted to hold the love of his life in his arms and relish the warm feeling in his chest at the thought that he had been the one that Mycroft had chosen to take care of him.


	10. Dangers of a Bath

“Everything alright, darling?”

Greg’s voice filtered down into Mycroft’s consciousness, arriving delayed and wrapped in cotton wool. He hummed and sank deeper into the bath water, foam tickling his nose. The warmth of the water soaked into his bones. With a sigh he breathed in deeply, enjoying the calming aroma of the orange blossom oil that the water had been infused with.

“Darling?”

Mycroft opened his eyes slowly, but was still temporarily blinded by the light, even though it was turned down to a soft glow. As he blinked sleepily, the bathroom came into focus. He laid eyes on the golden lamps, the glass covers that looked like magnolia flowers, the green marble finish that glinted luxuriously in the low light.

He wanted to answer, but then he felt a hand in his hair, carding carefully through the strands, scratching slightly and he closed his eyes again with a sigh.

“Just wanted to check if you haven’t drowned, love…” Greg said with a chuckle.

Mycroft hummed again – seemingly the only noise he could produce while his body was like jelly. He had spent a rather tiring day in meeting after meeting. But it had been the last. Now he could spend a few days with Greg on an actual, short holiday. He had booked a suite for them with all amenities the hotel could provide, short of a butler because he was afraid to traumatise the poor person. When he had arrived in the room that night Greg had surprised him with a bath already drawn, low music in the background and a sweet smell of oranges in the air. Mycroft had dropped everything, let himself be unclothed and directed to the water to be enveloped by the comfortable warmth.

“I love you…” he mumbled and pressed his face into Greg’s hand as he caressed his cheek.

“I love you too, darling,” Greg replied and sank to his knees next to the tub to press a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. “Relaxed yet?”

“I might just fall asleep.”

“Mhm…” Greg replied and Mycroft could hear the smile.

He felt Greg’s fingers trailing down his face, throat and over his chest, hand dipping into the water to stroke the skin made soft by the warm water. If Mycroft had been a cat he was certain he’d be purring. As it was he just sighed softly and opened his eyes to see Greg smile at him, eyes full of love.

“Close your eyes. Just enjoy it, darling.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Mycroft sighed and did as asked.

“Nonsense,” Greg whispered and brushed his hand over Mycroft’s stomach, slowly moving downward. “May I?”

“Yes…” Mycroft hissed, already feeling himself fill out just thinking about it.

It didn’t take long. Greg whispered sweet endearments to him as he leaned over the tub to kiss Mycroft thoroughly. Mycroft clawed at the walls of the smooth surface for purchase until he gave up and held onto Greg’s shirt with his wet hands, panting into his mouth. Greg stroked him unerringly, just hard enough, water sloshing around them, partly out of the tub, but neither of them seemed to care.

“Greg…” Mycroft breathed. “Please… harder…”

Greg groaned in response and tightened his grip, stroking slower, but with more force, just as he knew that Mycroft liked it… and was rewarded with a loud curse before Mycroft strained towards him, pulled at his shirt as he came, crying out.

“Oh fuck… Mycroft… let go–”

With a shout Greg lost his balance, where he was leaning over the tub, and with a loud splash he landed right on top of Mycroft, dipping both their hands under water for a few seconds before they surfaced, gasping for air. They stared at each other for a moment then burst out into wild laughter, holding closely, shaking with mirth. Finally Greg managed to sit up, straddling Mycroft’s legs, drawing in deep breaths that made his head swim.

“That… wasn’t planned,” he chuckled.

Mycroft stared up at Greg, who was dishevelled, wet shirt clinging to his body, water droplets in his hair, breathing heavily – and suddenly all his emotions turned back into arousal. Greg jumped slightly as he felt him grow hard underneath him and looked at Mycroft with wide eyes.

“You’re not…”

Mycroft cleared his throat and blamed the blush on the hot water. When he spoke his voice was shy, but amused.

“How do you feel about round two, incubus?”


	11. Three's a crowd

Mycroft had lost the ability to think. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t breathe. His body moved without his input, his eyes closed in defeat. With every push he drifted further and further, until everything was cloudy, shrouded in a haze. He heard himself panting, but his senses seemed to be far away.

A sharp point of pain brought him back to consciousness, and just as he felt the sting of the slap, the man behind him pushed in so hard his legs gave out and he fell to the bed on his stomach. Mycroft gasped loudly, but the man had followed him down, cock still inside, and in response put both hands on Mycroft’s back to hold him down. At the feeling Mycroft could do nothing but moan, as he clawed at the blanket, unable to do anything but take it. Tears formed in his eyes, and they hadn’t even properly begun.

Perfect.

“Darling?” he heard Greg ask from across the room.

The man behind Mycroft stilled for a moment.

“Green,” Mycroft replied and received another slap as reward. He tensed and bucked, much to the other man’s delight, who pressed him even further into the mattress. Mycroft’s own cock had been neglected so far, but with every forceful push it now rubbed against the bed, maddeningly not enough, but incredibly good all the same.

“Lift him up again,” Greg directed after a while and the man followed suit.

Mycroft returned to all fours, breathing heavily, just as the man continued to grind in him. His heart threatened to give out as he heard Greg stand up and lower his zipper. He hadn’t expected his lover to join and the surprise only heightened his arousal impossibly further. The man behind him stilled again, after exchanging a glance with Greg. Mycroft felt Greg’s fingers trail along his back, ever downwards, until they reached the point where he had been breached. Greg managed to fit a finger beside the cock and circled it once, chuckling when he heard Mycroft whimper.

“Do you want me?” he asked in a low whisper.

“Always,” Mycroft replied.

“Very good, pet…”

Mycroft sighed as Greg’s hand returned to his back, then traveled up until it reached his hair. He was petted almost gently, until Greg’s fingers tightened and the man himself came into view. His cock was hard, leaking, and very close to Mycroft’s lips.

“Open up, darling,” Greg said.

Mycroft didn’t have to be told twice.


End file.
